by R. C. Martin
“She is, you know,” I murmur, looking down at Isabella as she squirms restlessly in her sleep.
“She is what?” asks Gabe.
“Amazing.”
“I don’t doubt that she is, brother. I look forward to finally meeting her.” He clears his throat, glancing over his shoulder before he adds in a mock whisper, “Just don’t tell Abbie I said that.”
“You kept my secrets,” I reply with a smirk. “I’ll keep yours.”
Blaine
I WAS GLAD TO see my name on the schedule for New Years Eve. Being scheduled to work meant that I didn’t have to come up with excuses as to why I didn’t feel like going out and drinking with my friends as we all rang in the new year. It also meant that if someone wanted to find me to deliver a kiss at midnight, he’d only have to come looking for me at the place we first met—except, I knew better than to have even hoped for such a thing.
A girl can’t help but dream, though.
Now, as I lay awake in bed, the first day of the year more than half gone, I rub my hungry belly and try not to cry. More than anything, I could really go for some pancakes right now. Not just any pancakes, but Michael’s pancakes. When I think about the last time he made them for me, the dam breaks, and all the tears I’ve been holding back come rushing out of me. It’s been a few days since I’ve had a good cry, so I let it all out before I force myself to get out of bed.
I drag myself to the shower, taking my time underneath the hot spray of water. With my mind made up to head over to dad’s and whip up some pancakes, I make quick work of an outfit. Since I worked last night, I get tonight off, which means I can hang out and watch college bowl games for the rest of the day. That said, I keep it comfortable, tugging on my favorite pair of navy, printed, fleece-lined leggings and my oversized gray sweatshirt. It reads: Kinda Care. Kinda Don’t, which is exactly how I feel right now.
Next, I take the time to blow-dry my hair. The last thing I want is to catch a cold, which is exactly what wet hair in freezing temperatures would get me. With the sound of the blow-drier in my ear, I don’t hear the front door open and close. Neither do I hear his footfalls as he enters the apartment. So when I walk out of my bathroom and see Michael standing outside of the kitchen, staring at me from across the distance that separates us, I scream.
And then I cry.
I cry so hard, it’s almost as if I hadn’t cried less than an hour ago already.
I cry so hard, I can’t move my feet to get to him.
Then he’s all around me, holding me, comforting me, loving me—so, naturally, I cry harder.
I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on tight, soaking his sweater with my tears. He doesn’t say anything, but lets me cry until I start to calm down. When I can catch my breath, I pull away only enough to look up at him. He looks as gorgeous as ever—with just the right amount of dark scruff covering his jaw, and those beautiful, dark blue eyes that I love so much, and his thick, curly hair, which is longer than it was the last time I saw him. He smiles at me softly, and I swear my heart skips a beat. He then cradles my head at my nape with one hand before carefully wiping my cheeks dry. When he uses the end of his sleeve to wipe away my snot, I can feel a blush creeping into my face at the same time that I giggle. His smile turns into a grin, but I don’t get to enjoy it for long. I can’t complain, though; the next thing I know, he’s kissing me.
Instantly—I’m lost.
Michael
I BRUSH MY lips against hers tenderly, silently whispering my apology.
I press my lips against hers gently, seeking her forgiveness.
I sweep my tongue across her lips slowly, needing to taste her.
Then she opens up for me, pushing herself up onto her tiptoes, her fingers curling into fists around my sweater at my back, and I no longer know the meaning of restraint.
I kiss her desperately, declaring how much I’ve missed her.
I kiss her greedily, informing her that I am here to stay.
I kiss her ardently, reminding her that she is mine.
Siempre mía. Por siempre mi angel.1
She whimpers, kissing me fervently in return, and I am lost.
Blaine
I CAN’T GET close enough. I claw at his sweater, longing to feel him, and he reaches down to grab hold of my ass. A moan spills from my mouth into his as I circle my arms around his shoulders, holding on as he lifts me from my feet and carries me. I don’t know where we’re going, but I don’t care—not so long as he doesn’t take his lips away from mine.
He sets me back down on my feet only to grab hold of my hips and lift me up again, setting me down on the counter, and I know we’re in the kitchen. He kisses me deeper, burying his fingers in my hair and moving my head where he wants it. I go where he leads me, twisting my tongue with his, my panties so soaked that I’m uncomfortable.
Aching to feel his bare skin, I seek out the hem of his sweater and slip my hands beneath his undershirt. Smoothing my fingers over his abs and up his chest only makes me want him more, and my clit pulses with my need. I didn’t know that I could crave him anymore than I have been over the last three-and-a-half months, but I was wrong. Here and now, I feel crazed with my desire for him.
He lets me go, severing our kiss before yanking both his sweater and his undershirt over his head. He drops the garments onto the floor, and I immediately busy my mouth with licking and kissing my way across his chest. For a moment, he lets me have my way, and then his hands are in my hair again. Pulling at the strands, he forces me to arch my neck before he leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses up my neck and over my chin. He then plunges his tongue inside of my mouth, and my stomach clenches in excitement. I hook my legs around his hips and he grunts, nibbling on my bottom lip.
Then he releases my hair and drops his hands to reach for the hem of my sweatshirt. In an instant, I’m yanked out of the high of our passionate exchange. I gasp, batting his hands away from me impulsively, my eyes growing wide when I realize where I am—when I am. I choke on a sob as I shake away my lust filled haze, my heart so incredibly full when it dawns on me that I’m suddenly in a moment I’ve been waiting for for months. A moment I don’t wish to rush.
I lift my gaze to find his, and when I see his eyes dance around my face, a warm sense of calm settles over me. For the first time since he spoke the words, calling me his home, I understand what he meant in the most profound way. Tears spill from the corners of my eyes, my joy and relief uncontainable. With a sigh, I lean forward and prop my forehead in the middle of his chest.
There’s a slight tremble in my fingers as I rest them against his bare sides, and I wonder if he can feel it. When he soothingly rubs his strong, steady hands down my back, pressing a kiss on the crown of my head, something tells me that he can.
“I got carried away. I’m sorry, angel,” he mumbles into my hair.
A shiver races down my spine hearing him call me angel—hearing him speak at all. Though, his apology is unnecessary. He’s misunderstood my reasons for stopping.
“I don’t want to stop,” I whisper. My hands still at his sides, I brace myself against him as I slip off of the counter and down onto my feet. Peeking up at him from beneath my lashes, I murmur, “I just want to slow down.”
I draw in a deep breath, both anxious and nervous to reveal myself to him. I feel as though I’ve been covering myself up for so long, hiding from anyone who isn’t Michael. I can hardly believe that finally—finally—I don’t have to hide anymore.
I lift my arms up in the air, inviting him to continue where he left off. With his focus trained on my face, he blindly reaches for the bottom of my sweatshirt and begins peeling it off of me. When he stops moving, the soft fabric of my top bunched around my wrists, I can’t breathe. I watch as he takes me in, studying me in awe and confusion.
“Blaine…” he mutters, his voice thick and his gaze still locked on my belly.
I’m not showing very much, but to someone who knows my body as intimately as Michael
does, I know my progress is hard to miss. Aside from my pudgy looking middle, my boobs are starting to outgrow my current collection of bras—a problem I’ll have to remedy really soon.
Trying to keep my own emotions in check, I barely manage to reply, “Welcome home, daddy.”
A strangled noise falls from his lips as he drops my sweatshirt to the floor. A second later, he’s on one knee, his hands now the ones trembling as he holds me around my waist. He touches his lips to my small baby bump, a single tear trickling down his cheek as he mumbles, “You’re pregnant?”
“Yeah, baby,” I choke out, no longer holding back my cry. Running my fingers through his hair, I giggle through my tears as he rains down kisses all over my belly.
“When?” he asks between his showers of affection.
“I’m—I mean, we’re eighteen weeks along. Our due date is in June.”
He stops kissing me, tilting his head back as his gaze collides with mine. “Eighteen weeks…”
I read the disappointment and the questions on his face as it dawns on him that we’ve been apart for almost four months, and I never once tried to get in touch to tell him. I cup his jaw in my hands, hoping that he’ll understand what I have to say. Even thinking about how hard it’s been to keep my distance and grant him the space that he asked for makes my chest ache; and yet, I can’t deny that this baby—our baby has given me the strength to hold onto the hope that Michael would return. On my hardest days, I was reminded that our child—his child was conceived in a love that would stand the test of time. I just had to be patient.
“I wanted you to come back when you were ready,” I explain. “I wanted you to come back because you wanted me—not because you thought I’d trapped you.” I shrug my shoulders feebly before I add, “I haven’t told anyone. I wanted you to be the first.”
“Angel, I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took me so long to find my way back,” he breathes, touching his forehead just below my breasts.
“It’s okay,” I cry softly as he hugs my hips.
I mean the words I say. I know he wouldn’t have left me if he didn’t need to. I trust him. I’ve always trusted him. It’s been difficult, but I’d endure anything for the man who now kneels before me. I also know, simply by the way he holds me, that this hasn’t been easy for him, either. Nothing about our journey has been ideal. But we’re here. He’s here. That’s all that matters.
Holding his head, I resume running my fingers through his hair as I remind him, “You’re here now. You came back to me. You came back to us—and we can be together now.”
“No me voy a ninguna parte. I’m here to stay. I’ll never leave you again.”
Michael
I MEAN THE words I say. Even still, it’s not enough to speak them. I know that I must show her—that I must fight for her, every day. Starting now.
When I stand to my feet and scoop her into my arms, cradling her against my chest, she squeaks and giggles in surprise, but she doesn’t protest. Wrapping her arms around my shoulders, she presses a kiss to my cheek before she whispers, “Where are we going, baby?”
“I’m taking you to bed—our bed.” I stop at the foot of the spiral staircase and smirk at her. Leaning in until my lips are a breath away from hers, I murmur, “You said you wanted us to slow down. I’ll take you slow, Blaine. I’ll take my time and love you the way a woman like you ought to be loved.”
“A woman like me?” she breathes, her breaths coming faster now.
My smirk turns into a grin, my cock twitching in response to her growing excitement.
“Keeper of my heart. Mother of my child.”
“Michael,” she moans, hugging me tighter as she presses a kiss to my lips. “Say it again.”
“You’re the keeper of my heart, angel. You’re the mother of my child—you’re my world, and I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me.”
“Oh, god, I need you so badly. I’ve missed you so much, baby. Hurry.”
My need matching hers, I don’t waste another second before I carry her up to the loft. I set her on her feet at the foot of the bed, bringing my mouth to hers an instant later. I taste her lips as I unfasten her bra, and palm her breasts as soon as they are free. She whimpers, reaching for the belt at my jeans, and I pull away abruptly.
“Right now, this is about you. Not me,” I tell her, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of her leggings and panties. She acknowledges me with a nod, and I push the soft fabric off of her legs. Holding onto my shoulders for balance, she steps out of the last of her clothing. I take advantage of my crouched position, skimming my hands up the back of her legs and over her ass. I place a soft kiss against her belly, my heart swelling with the act, and then return to full height.
Taking a step back, I admire the woman I’ve gone without for the last several months. If it’s even possible, she’s more gorgeous now than ever before. Aside from the slight growth around her middle and her fuller breasts, her hair is longer—her wavy, brown locks hanging past her shoulders now.
“Michael—if you don’t fuck me soon, I’ll die.”
Stifling a chuckle, I jerk my chin at her and command, “On your back. Wrists held together.”
I see it as her eyes widen in excited anticipation before she moves to do my bidding. While she gets settled, I make my way to the nightstand, where I know she houses our rope. When I pull open the drawer, my eyebrows shoot up in surprise at what I find.
“Angel?” I mumble, reaching inside of the drawer. I pull out a black leather paddle, gripping it tightly in my hand, and shift my eyes in her direction, seeking an explanation.
She lowers her hands, joined together as I had instructed, and blushes as her gaze locks with mine. “Um,” she hums before she goes silent. I wait, somewhat impatiently, as she bites the side of her cheek. Finally offering me a shrug, she admits, “On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I did some online shopping.”
“You mean, on nights when you couldn’t sleep, you bought us sex toys?”
“Among other things,” she replies sheepishly.
I take a second look at the paddle in my hand. The thought of using it on her—the thought of her purchasing the item for me to use on her—it has my erection pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of my jeans. I set it aside, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as I reach for the stick of a riding crop. On the end is a piece of purple leather, cut out into the shape of a heart.
This time, when I look at my beloved, she giggles and shrugs before she says, “I thought it was cute.”
“I’ll show you cute, all right,” I mutter teasingly, playfully swatting at the side of her leg.
She grins at me, and I toss her a wink as I return the crop to the drawer and continue my search. Along with the navy satin ropes we’ve been using, there’s a new set of black ones. However, there’s something else inside that intrigues me even more. My fingers trace along the inside of the purple leather, fur-lined cuff that I find. When I pull out one, and then another, I raise a quizzical eyebrow at Blaine in hopes that she’ll tell me how they work.
“There should be a couple restraint clips inside,” she explains. “You could clip my wrists together, or—um—separately, to the bed.”
Without another word, I set to work. In no time, her wrists are cuffed, and the restraints are chained through a couple of links above her head. When I’m finished, I can smell her arousal, and I have to remind myself that we’re taking things slow. I undress myself completely, stroking myself a few times to relieve my urgent need, and then position myself at the foot of the bed.
She gasps loudly when I grab her behind her knees, lifting the lower half of her body up in order to hook her legs over my shoulders. With her settled right where I want her, I take hold of her hips to keep her steady, and then drag my tongue through her wet slit.
“Oh, shit,” she moans, digging her heels into my back. I grin, knowing that I’m just getting started, and then proceed to devour her like the starved man that I am. Every li
ttle noise she makes turns me on, and my dick aches to be inside of her. When she comes on my tongue, I groan as I lap up the evidence of her climax, her body trembling in my hold.
After I’ve had my fill, I ease her back down on the bed. She tries circling her legs around me in an attempt to get me closer, but I take hold of her ankles and spread her legs apart, pinning them to the mattress.
“Patience, angel.”
“That’s not fair,” she argues, pulling at her restraints. “I’ve waited months for you. I need you. Now. Please, baby!”
I almost give in to her, but then I remember how much I love to make her desperate with want. It’s a game we haven’t played in too long, and I intend to play it now. I flash a mischievous smile, and she groans, as if in protest. The grin that accompanies the noise gives her away, and I chuckle as I slowly skim my fingertips up her legs. When I reach her knees, I trace my touch along the inside of her thighs, and she shudders. I then lower myself over her, planting a wet kiss against her lower abdomen, right at the bottom of her newly swollen belly.
I kiss, nibble, and lick my way up her torso, reacquainting myself with what is mine. I take my time when I reach her tits, sucking on her nipples until she’s fighting against her restraints—just the way I like. Just the way I crave.
“Michael Isidro Cavanaugh!”
Smirking, I look up at her from where my head is lowered and blow across her wet nipple.
Her eyes roll into the back of her head and she arches her back as she grumbles, “I’m horny, I’m hormonal, and if you don’t stop toying with me—”
Before she can finish her threat, I grab hold of her behind her knees and spread her legs wide, sliding into her drenched heat. I thrust inside of her until I’m seated to the hilt—until I’m home—and my heart is full.
Blaine